


Blood in the Sand

by shut_the_jongup



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Some Humor, Very Brief Mention of Suicidal Behavior, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shut_the_jongup/pseuds/shut_the_jongup
Summary: Deadlocked and injured in the middle of a tense impasse, five stranded soldiers and a doctor do what they can to hold out on their own with limited resources, only to find themselves dealing with sabotage, betrayal, and each other’s complicated, hidden histories. The six find they must do what they can to help each other, and end this pointless, constant battle.(this story is on hiatus until further notice.)





	1. Shrapnel

1

 

Not much could be heard over the blasts of gunshots and the yelling that reverberated across the field, but the screams and yells of pain and anguish were impossible to ignore.

Only the General could be made out above the noise, his raspy voice barking out orders to begin a retreat.

He wasn’t completely sure where he was, but it was hot and humid; his hair plastered to his forehead as though it had been painted on.

Heeding the General’s orders, he took a breath and sprinted back, vaulting quickly over the barrage behind him and ducking beneath it. He had initially been told to join the front lines when the ambush began, so there was still a ways to go before he would be safe. Well, _safer_.

They hadn’t been armed when the attack began, as it was just before sunrise, so most of them had only what they could grab in a matter of seconds, his being two shotguns, both currently holstered at his hips. There had been no time to dress in proper uniform, so most of the soldiers were in whatever they had worn to sleep the previous night (aside from the night-watch team,) his being a white tank top and his pants, which were a dark green and brown camo pattern. He gripped the gun at his left hip and held it vertically before his face, barrel facing the sky, and peeked above the barrage.

Clear.

Gun still in hand, he performed the same maneuver as before, and was back another row of defense.

Checking both sides, he noticed someone behind the barrage to his right struggling to get to his feet. Upon further inspection, he could see that one of the man’s ankles had been twisted into an unnatural position, and he realized the guy wasn't gonna make it on his own.

It didn’t take long for him to decide he was going to help the other man, who looked like he couldn’t be older than himself. Another peek over his defense and he calculated he could make it to the other guy if he timed the reloads correctly since the attackers shot in rounds. The horizontal gap between barrages was ten feet; it would be close, but he could make it. He shoved the gun back into its holster at his hip, and crouched by the edge of the barrage, ready to take off the second the next round of shots finished.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Four_

_Five_

_Six_

_Seven_

_Eight_

_Nine_

_Go._

Pushing off of the dirt he flew forward, head ducked down. He only realized his one mistake too late, as his peripheral vision caught the familiar glint of a sniper’s gun, hidden well in a tall tree, he had failed to scout out.

He ducked and rolled immediately and there was a loud bang; he swore he could hear the bullet whiz past his head. The inertia from his speed had him down fast, and he leapt back to his feet, arms and hands scraped, a new tear in his shirt. He knew he would be slapping himself for making such a dumb, rookie mistake, but there wasn’t time for that yet. In no time be was on his feet again, twisting and turning to make himself a difficult target. He was but a foot away from safety when his eyes met those of the guy with the busted ankle. Time froze as he noted the fear in the man's eyes. They were wide and full of confusion, but there wasn't time to process why when a loud and way too close sound filled his ears, leaving them ringing.

_Bang._

_Bang._

The last thing his vision caught was the guy behind the barrage, reaching out as if to catch him when he dropped to his knees, hand instinctively coming up to cover his shoulder as the other clutched his abdomen. He didn't stay upright for long, landing almost immediately on his front, already feeling the forming bruises on his nose and forehead.

He could hear the injured man screaming his name, but he sounded so far away.

“JONGUP!!”

* * *

Youngjae watched as, to his horror, two bullets ripped and tore into the abdomen and shoulder of Moon Jongup, one of his squad's most relied on members.

He knew enough about anatomy to know that neither of the shots had hit anything vital, but Jongup wasn't moving, and the sand was already soaking up thick streams of blood. Youngjae assumed he was playing dead to avoid being targeted in the next round of fire.

Jongup’s right arm was only about a foot away from where Youngjae was, laying palm down. He scooted to the edge of the barrage, peeking around the corner before reaching out and grabbing hold of his fellow soldier’s wrist, wrapping his other hand around Jongup’s forearm. Ignoring the burn in his right ankle as best he could, Youngjae braced himself with his good foot and managed to, with the help of adrenaline (he was more of a speed than strength guy, and Jongup was heavy due to the fact that he was practically made of muscle,) drag him back behind the barrage with him.

Jongup was laying on his front, blood unceasingly running into the dusty dirt beneath him. Youngjae kneeled over him and carefully pushed the boy onto his back.

“Jongup!”

His breathing was heavy and laboured, face streaked with sweat and dirt, but with effort, his clenched eyes were pried open and flicked up to look at Youngjae.

“Uuun-made it-nghhhhh…” he groaned out.

Breathing a sigh of (temporary) relief, Youngjae scanned the area, searching to see if anyone was nearby. The only allies were pretty far back, almost in the clear, so Youngjae pulled the radio he had grabbed earlier out of his pocket and tuned in.

“This is soldier Yoo Youngjae, serial 1224; We have a Code 406 involving myself and soldier Moon Jongup behind the right fifth row of defense.  Assistance requested. Over.”

There was no response. He bit his lip.

Leaning back over Jongup, Youngjae’s fingers slid down the his neck, to which said soldier groaned again, and searched for his pulse. As soon as they found the soft thumping of an artery he counted for fifteen seconds. 39. That was 156 BPM, and Youngjae took it as an okay sign. He was no medic, but they had all been trained in first aid.

Next he brought his attention to the wounds.

“You _would_ manage to get shot _twice_ , Moon Jongup…,” he murmured.

“I try,” was the weak response.

Youngjae shushed him. “Don't waste your breath now, Soldier.”

Jongup complied, settling instead for another pained groan and a surprised hiss, biting into his lip as Youngjae attempted to peel his shirt up for a better look at the shot to his side, which was bleeding much more heavily than that on his shoulder. The fabric was sticky with said blood, and Youngjae was glad he had a strong stomach as he assessed the tear in the younger’s right abdomen, just above the last rib, which he assumed was without a doubt at least fractured.

He glanced back at Jongup’s face. Sweat ran through the dirt stained on his cheeks, and his eyes were sealed shut again, lips pressed together and breath unsteady. Youngjae bit his lip.

Suddenly the radio he had set to the side crackled, and a staticy voice said, “Assistance to right defense row 5, on the way, hang tight ‘till the attackers stand down. Over.”

Youngjae swiped up the device and spoke back. “Roger that, we won't move. Over.”

He put the radio back down and grabbed Jongup’s clammy hand. “Someone's on the way, we'll be alright. Just hang in there until they get tired of shooting at empty land.”

 _For now, at least,_ he added in his head.

* * *

 

“CHOI JUNHONG! JUNG DAEHYUN! GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE, NOW!”

Junhong had been on night patrol when the attack began early in the morning, and he was exhausted, only having helped escort soldiers to the safety of the shuttles. The sound of his name being bellowed across the camp had him so startled he almost dropped his gun, whipping his head back and forth to find the source of the voice. He knew who it was, of course. Who wouldn’t recognize that voice?

He spotted Bang Yongguk to his right, propping himself up on a pile of crates with his hand, a portable radio in the other. Daehyun was already jogging towards the man, and Junhong abandoned his post to join them.

“Just got a call in from Yoo. He’s got a Code 406 way back by the barricades and the sniper stations.”

“406? Who’s with ‘im? What happened to ‘im?” Daehyun’s nerves immediately jumped and he fired the questions hopping around  on Junhong’s tongue.

“Moon, and he didn’t say what happened, but that means they’re immobile. We’re going after them.”

“But the gener– ”

“Does it look like I care whether the fucking general told us to or not? _I’m_ telling you we’re going, _so we’re going_. He’s probably already run off with his tail between his legs, anyway…”

Junhong gulped. Everyone knew better than to defy Bang Yongguk. He was a renowned soldier, having been offered multiple promotions but well known for never accepting them, for whatever reason. Many were afraid of him.

Daehyun had shut up, and now both pairs of eyes were on Junhong.

“So what’s the plan?”

Yongguk nodded and turned to head inside the tent a few feet away, motioning for the other two to follow.

* * *

“So there’s no plan.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s pretty damn obvious! What, you think we’re just gonna trot on in there, scoop them up and skip out of the scene like we’re going on a fucking picnic?!”

“Hey, watch your mouth, Jung Daehyun. We’re making the plan right now.”

Daehyun crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. He just didn’t get this guy. “Well? Tell us what to do then.”

Yongguk exhaled frustratedly. Jung Daehyun somehow always managed to get on his every nerve. The punk had some serious authority and respect issues.

“Alright, listen up. I spoke to Yoo again a moment ago. He’s only got a busted ankle, but he said he can’t stand on it.”

Junhong let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank–”

“Moon’s been shot twice; left shoulder and left upper abdomen, just on the lowest rib.”

“Shit…,” Junhong finished, face agape in shock.

“Here’s what I figure is the best way to go about this. Nearly everyone is evacuated by now, correct?” Yongguk looked to Junhong for confirmation, who nodded his head.

“We should be the last ones here.”

“That means the enemy should have retreated by now too then, right?” Daehyun cut in. “Or at least they won’t be shooting in rounds anymore…”

“Right,” Yongguk said. “Though I suspect they have a sniper or two on duty, so we’ll need to be cautious. Once we get to them–”

“ _If_ we get to them…,” Daehyun mumbled.

“Shut up,” Junhong hissed, elbowing his elder.

Yongguk narrowed his eyes at Daehyun. “You interrupt me one more time you little sh–”

“Uh, so _once_ we get there…,” Junhong rang.

“Right.” Yongguk continued. “Daehyun, you’ll be on watch.”

“Why am I _always_ on watch?”

Yongguk ignored him. “Junhong, I want you to assist Yoo. I’ll get Moon. We should be clear, but I want you on watch, Daehyun, because you’re a sharpshooter and if anyone pops up I trust you’ll take them down before they can pull the trigger. You two got it?”

The soldiers nodded and saluted.

“Yes, Sir.”

* * *

_bangbangbang._

“Shit!”

“Hey, Jung Daehyun, remind me, what was your fucking job again?!”

“Sorry, sorry, I got it…”

_bang._

“ _Jesus_.”

“Hey, I got him, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point, you id–”

“Guys! Come on!” Junhong beckoned the two bickering soldiers forward. “They should be somewhere around here…what row are we at?”

“Six,” Yongguk answered.

The three paused to check around, and in the quiet Junhong made out a voice, not too far away.

_“Shit shit shit shit shit. SHIT Jongup, come on! Don’t you dare pass out! I swear if you do I’ll kick your ass when you come to again, and don’t think I–”_

Junhong nudged Yongguk’s shoulder. “Hear that?”

“Must be them. Come on. Daehyun, get over here!”

When they rounded the corner, Junhong recognized the two immediately. That was Yoo Youngjae and… _oh god._

“Jongup!!” The younger raced towards the two, dropping to his knees beside them. He could tell his friend was on the verge of blacking out; his eyes fluttered and he was shivering.

And there was blood…so much blood.

Yongguk and Daehyun jogged over. “Choi, get up! Assist Yoo,” the eldest ordered.

Junhong tore his eyes away from Jongup, blinking back the tears. Yongguk was right, now was not the time to get emotional. “Here,” he motioned to Youngjae. “Daehyun, help him get on my back.”

Yongguk knelt beside Jongup, worry creasing his brow. He was bleeding a lot, and his breathing was labored.

“Moon Jongup.”

His only response was a pained grunt.

“I’m gonna carry you back, okay? It’s gonna hurt.”

“Try me,” Jongup croaked, opening his eyes, and then wincing.

Yongguk sighed and carefully positioned his arms under the younger, who was obviously trying to hide the severity of the pain the new motion brought on. He couldn’t help it when he cried out as Yongguk lifted him, but he quickly bit his lip.

“Sor–”

“Shut up, just _go_ ,” Jongup rasped through clenched teeth; he was fisting Yongguk’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

For a moment Yongguk was shocked; looking down and the kid in his arms. He had positioned him so that the wounds were facing his own body (as a precaution,) and he had to look away from the pained face that he knew he was the cause of.

“You three ready?” He glanced over to Junhong, who had somehow managed to get Youngjae onto his back, and Daehyun, who had his pistol at the ready. They both nodded.

“Let’s go.”


	2. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody–yes, it is I, having returned. Hope you're all enjoying this adventure so far. Be warned, though: things are gonna get tense.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy :) xx

“Careful…”

“Got him–no! Wait, keep his legs in your lap.”

“I’m not gonna let go of him, kid. Just be sure you hang onto his other half, this ride is gonna be rough, especially since Yongguk-hyung is driving…”

Youngjae snorted from the passenger seat of the jeep. “Wow Dae, that was the most subtle innuendo I’ve ever heard from you,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Shut up, both of you,” the subject of the joke growled from the wheel.

“I’m not a kid…,” Junhong grumbled, readjusting Jongup’s head in his lap as Yongguk turned the vehicle out of the camp.

He and Daehyun had been put on Jongup duty. They sat next to each other in the back, with the injured soldier lying across their laps. He had lost consciousness on the way jeep.

“There’s a station not 40 miles southeast of our location,” Yongguk spoke up. “If I bend the law a little, we’ll be there in 20 minutes. Hold on back there.”

“A little?!” Youngjae piped up. “That’s _90 miles per_ –”

“He needs a doctor, Yoo. Get your priorities straight.”

“That might be difficult, hyung,” Daehyun spoke up from the back. “This guy’s about as straight as–”

Junhong narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Daehyun, this is _not_ the time for your dumb–”

“My priorities are straighter than _you’ll_  ever be, Jung Daehyun,” Youngjae glared back at him.

“Oh, and I suppose–”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

…

“Sorry…,” Junhong looked down at Jongup’s face. “Can we please try not to take this situation so lightly…?”

Youngjae bit his lip and stared out the front window.

Yongguk remained silent as ever, and Daehyun huffed, adjusting Jongup’s legs over his thighs again.

 

After Yongguk had stopped the jeep outside the entrance to the station, he had instructed Junhong and Daehyun not to move a muscle, and then proceeded to run off, Youngjae in tow, to alert the medical staff on duty of an emergency.

He explained everything he knew, and in no time two nurses were running out to the vehicle with a stretcher. He followed close behind, handing Youngjae, who had been putting _all_ of his weight (which, albeit, wasn’t much) on Yongguk as he limped along, off to another nurse, and the younger was pushed via wheelchair into a small sector for his own treatment.

Junhong and Daehyun had somehow managed to get an unconscious Jongup onto the offered stretcher by the time Yongguk reached them, and he immediately wheeled around to follow the two nurses back inside. As soon as they entered the lobby, Jongup was hurried further down the hall and rushed through a flap-like door marked “EMERGENCY”.

When Junhong made to follow, Yongguk grabbed the boy's shoulder to stop him. “Junhong, go keep an eye on Youngjae.”

Junhong turned to Yongguk with pleading eyes, and the elder had to look away.

“But I-”

“Someone needs to follow along with his treatment plan; we can't have him breaking any rules or pushing himself too hard.”

“Can't Dae-”

“ _Junhong.”_

Yongguk knew he was being harsh on Junhong, but he couldn't allow the younger to hear Jongup’s immediate diagnosis.

“I-okay.” Junhong went to the front desk and was soon led to the room Youngjae was being kept in.

Yongguk shook his head. _That kid is way too young to be here,_ he thought as he and Daehyun made their way to the emergency sector of the makeshift hospital.

* * *

 

Daehyun didn't know Jongup very well, but he supposed he didn't really know _anyone_ very well here.

‘Here’ meaning away from home.

He supposed he knew Junhong pretty well, and judging by the kid’s reaction to seeing Jongup’s condition, Daehyun assumed they had some sort of history together. Junhong was a mutual then. Did that count in terms of kind of knowing Jongup?

Speaking of Jongup, the poor guy looked awful.

To put it nicely.

The room wasn’t exactly homey, but for a portable medical center, it wasn’t too bad. The entire “building” was actually just a big tent, all brown and flimsy, but it seemed to hold up just fine and was sanitary enough. The medical staff had transferred Jongup from the stretcher onto what seemed to be a table, but Daehyun couldn’t be too sure.

The nurses had politely shoved a needle into Jongup's arm, attached with a tube to an IV bag, and then another directly next to it that was connected to a supply of type B blood to make up for that of which was still drying in the dirt back at the camp. They'd had to cut off Jongup’s tank top, revealing a gash that Daehyun tried not to look at and tossed the material away, leaving Daehyun to wonder what the other boy would be given to wear later.

Daehyun would have inquired upon the younger soldier’s condition, but the nurses wouldn’t stop scurrying around. He began to grow dizzy trying to watch them. Suddenly one of them shoved a towel in his hands, yelling at him to apply pressure to Jongup’s abdomen with it until the doctor arrived. Daehyun’s eyes widened and he stood, frozen. He had never done anything like this before–suddenly the situation seemed all too real, and Daehyun felt an overwhelming sense of vertigo. What if he made things worse? What if he hurt Jongup? What if–

Suddenly the towel was snatched from his hands, and Daehyun shook himself out of his trance to see Yongguk pressing the material onto Jongup’s wound, the only expression observable on the elder’s face being absolute concentration and seriousness.

Yongguk obviously was better suited for and understood the demands of this situation.

Daehyun scowled and bit his lip, looking to the ground. What was _wrong_ with him? How was he even allowed to be a soldier? He couldn’t even look past his own emotions to help someone who could be as good as _dead_.

It wasn’t long before the flap protecting the small room was whipped open to the side, and a man who looked barely into his twenties sprinted into the room, carrying a manilla folder and donned in a stained, white lab coat. There was a stethoscope draped around his neck, and he wore a pair of thin-rimmed circular black glasses. Daehyun noticed him do a double take when his eyes landed on Yongguk, seeming as though he recognized the soldier. He quickly brushed it off, however, and turned to the nurses.

“Updated report?” He inquired, pulling a couple latex gloves from a box on the counter and pulling them over his hands.

“Both bullets are embedded in the flesh,” one of the nurses recited. “Nothing vital was hit, but he’s still bleeding badly. We’ve put him on an IV and blood drip; he’s been unconscious the entire time.”

The man nodded. “Vitals?” He placed his clipboard down on the counter and pulled open a drawer, sifting around and pulling out a tray.

“Blood pressure is currently at 75/45, and heart rate is currently at 48 BPM.”

“Hypotension…” the doctor murmured, scribbling on his clipboard with a pen he pulled from his pocket, “and bradycardia…alright.” He cleared his throat and straightened up. He shoved the clipboard and pen at one of the nurses. “Minhyuk, take notes. We need this entire procedure documented.”

“Of course, Doctor Kim,” the younger nurse nodded and stepped back.

“Everyone else,” the doctor continued, “grab a pair of gloves and do what I tell you. This needs to be done as quickly as possible.”


	3. Impasse

3

 

“Shouldn’t you do some sort of– _ow!_ –x-ray?” Youngjae winced as the doctor twisted his foot around.

“No,” was the reply.

“Why not? What if it’s broken?”

“Because I don’t need to. And it _is_ broken.”

“How– _ow_ – how can you tell?”

“I’m a doctor.”

Youngjae frowned and rolled his eyes as the doctor turned and left the room. “Yah! Where are you going? You just said it was _broken_ ; does that not require treatment?!” He huffed and sat back, leaning on the wall behind him. “Who the hell does this guy think he is? What kind of hospital is this?”

At the lack of response, Youngjae turned his head to glance at the younger boy beside him. Junhong was staring into his lap, fingers intertwined with each other and his left leg bouncing rapidly on the floor. Youngjae elbowed his side lightly. “You okay?” He leaned over, turning his head so that he could see Junhong’s face, but before he could get a good look, the other boy had turned his head away from Youngjae to instead face the wall.

Youngjae’s frown deepened. “What is it?”

After yet another lacking response, Youngjae let out a deep sigh. “Junhong.”

“…”

“ _Choi_ _Junhong._ ”

“ _What_ ,” the younger snapped at him, turning his head and glancing up.

Youngjae’s eyes widened upon seeing the other’s face; it looked pinched, and his eyes were glassy. Almost as though he was about to cry, but he didn’t.

It was an emotion that Youngjae couldn’t identify.

Junhong opened his mouth and drew in a steady breath, turning his neck back to face the wall again.

“So, um,” Youngjae bit his lip. “Yongguk sent you as insurance, didn’t he?”

Junhong grunted, and the two were cozily wrapped in silence again.

Youngjae cleared his throat. “He thinks I won’t do what the doctor says,” he told Junhong (whether he be listening or not.) “He’s right, you know.” Youngjae turned to face the younger; he was looking at the ground now. “I hate being told what to do.”

“Yeah.” The reply from the Junhong was soft; barely audible, in fact. But it was a reply, and Youngjae rejoiced internally at his small success, despite it’s lack of enthusiasm.

His small victory was, however, completely diminished when he saw Junhong reach up to wipe something from his cheek. Youngjae swallowed and looked to the ground. He knew that it was his fault. He was such a klutz; hadn’t even been able to jump high enough to get over _one_ barricade. Instead, he’d gotten his ankle caught on the edge, inertia from his jump jerking the joint harshly out of place.

And then Jongup…stupid, heroic Jongup.

Youngjae should have stopped him. He had seen the younger prepare to run to him; he should have _stopped_ him: told Jongup to leave him behind; that he’d be fine.

But he hadn’t.

And now Jongup was _dying_.

Youngjae knew he wasn’t worth Jongup in terms of war value. Jongup was strong; he was fast, he had willpower. He was daring, always calm and collected, talented. Jongup had willingly signed up to join the army.

Youngjae had been drafted.

Did that make him a coward? Maybe.

Youngjae was fisting the fabric of his pants so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, and he feared that if he didn’t get his emotions under control he might tear the garment apart.

“He’s special to you, isn’t he?” Youngjae spoke quietly.

“Yeah,” Junhong sniffled a little bit, but kept his face turned away. “He is.”

There was another brief silence, once again broken by Youngjae. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was barely audible, but Junhong looked up and turned to face the other, looking confused and concerned, but still melancholy.

“What?”

“It…” Youngjae inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh. “It was my fault.”

Junhong’s eyebrows drew together, a few tears still leaking from his eyes, which were now puffy, but sparkling and wet.

“What happened to Jongup,” the older clarified. “It was my fault.”

But Junhong was already shaking his head, closing his eyes. “Youngjae, it isn’t your fault. You aren’t the one who…shot him,” his voice wavered and cracked a little at the end of his sentence, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek.

Youngjae’s frown deepened. He didn’t know Junhong well, but seeing him in such a vulnerable state…seeing the boy crying…he didn’t like it. The younger’s hands were still in his lap, fingers woven neatly between each other, but clenched. Youngjae’s hand twitched; he wanted to grab Junhong’s hands. He wanted to hold them and hug the boy and tell him that Jongup was going to be okay.

He didn’t.

“Well…I guess, but–”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Junhong interrupted in a surprisingly stern tone. “Please,” he added quietly.

Youngjae rolled the inside of his cheek between his teeth, biting at the skin. It _was_ his fault, he was sure, but he’d let that go for now. For Junhong’s sake.

“Tell me about him,” he decided on instead.

Junhong blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Jongup,” Youngjae said. “How do you know him? What’s he like? I’ve only actually spoken to him a couple of times, so…”

The younger smiled softly, wiping more tears from his cheeks and chin. “He’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet,” he started, sounding thoughtful.

Youngjae’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs. “ _Jongup?_ But he’s so…”

“Stoic?” Junhong seemed amused. “Serious?” He suggested.

“Well…yeah, I guess.”

The other gave a soft laugh. “He kind of gives off that ‘don’t-approach-me’ vibe, doesn’t he?” He sniffled a little bit. “But he’s just quiet.”

“You seem to know him well.”

“I do,” Junhong confirmed with a small, sad nod.

“How did you two meet? How long have you known each other?”

“We met about…” Junhong’s nose scrunched up a little while he thought, mouthing numbers silently.

_Cute,_ Youngjae thought. (Unconsciously, of course.)

“Five years ago? Six? Maybe just four…”

“Wow,” Youngjae said. “You two must be really close.”

“We are.” And with that Junhong fell back into his sad and worried expression; he glanced towards the entrance of the room they were in.

“What about how you met?” Youngjae was curious.

“Oh, uh…” Junhong hesitated, and he looked to his hands, still sat in his lap. “I’d rather not…think about that right now,” he said.

Youngjae could see new tears welling up in the other’s eyes, and he panicked a little. _Smooth, Youngjae, you made him cry again!_ He thought to himself.

“That’s okay,” he said a little too loudly.

Junhong sniffled again.

Youngjae apologized immediately, not wishing to see the younger cry anymore. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure,” he reassured the boy, thinking _fuck it_ in his head as he leaned over and took Junhong’s hands in his and gave them a soft squeeze. “He’s very brave.”

Junhong blinked widely at the new addition in his lap, but soon his face relaxed into a small smile and he looked back up at Youngjae.

“Yeah, he’s brave.”

* * *

“Where’s Daehyun?”

Yongguk had been kicked out of Jongup’s room, and had just approached Youngjae and Junhong, who were seated beneath a pavilion outside the clinic.

“Yongguk?” Youngjae waved a hand in front of the elder’s face.

“What? Sorry, did you say something?”

“Yeah, where’s Daehyun,” Youngjae repeated.

Yongguk hesitated, wondering if he could tell them or if he should wait for the doctors to elaborate upon the situation. If he tried to explain, he might tell it wrong…

“He’s still inside,” Yongguk looked away from the younger, straightening the clean shirt provided by the hospital staff (his uniform top was a bit soiled from assisting with Jongup’s operation.)

Youngjae raised a brow at the vague response. “And…?” He motioned for the soldier to continue.

But Yongguk just shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation; Youngjae could tell he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

Was he ever, though?

Yongguk glanced at the youngest. Junhong was biting his lip, looking antsy.

He knew about Junhong’s history and relationship with Jongup; it was more than understandable for him to be so worried; panicked, too.

“He’s okay,” Yongguk broke the silence and put a hand on Junhong's shoulder.

The physical reaction from Junhong was more than enough to alter the entire atmosphere of the place; his shoulders sank down, relaxing, and his eyes closed. The creases between his brows dissolved and he let out a long breath.

“When you say ‘okay’,” Youngjae said, “do you mean okay as in ‘he’ll-recover-and-be-back-to-normal-okay’ or ‘he’s-alive-okay’?”

Yongguk frowned. “I don’t know…I’m not a doctor. They just said he was ‘going to be okay’, then told me to leave.” He noticed Junhong’s eyes fall again.

“The doctor should be out with the report in a few minutes, though,” he added hastily, hoping to save the younger’s mood a little bit.

There was yet another uncomfortable silence for a while, and Yongguk noticed a woman walking towards them with a clipboard in her hands. All three men stood up straight and at attention when she stopped in front of them. Well, except for Youngjae; he was propped up on a pair of crutches.

The woman’s hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but there were loose strands curled and floating about, framing her face. “I’m going to need all of your names, squads and serials,” she spoke in a surprisingly deep and melodic voice, though it had a noticeable strict streak.

As soon as all required information was disclosed, the woman looked over her clipboard, flipped a few pages back, and frowned.

“Bang Yongguk.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the addressed responded.

“I must speak with you privately; come with me.” She spun on her heel and ducked back into the makeshift hospital lobby. Yongguk was quick to follow, not sparing a glance to the two younger soldiers, who seemed quite puzzled.

As soon as they were both inside, the woman shoved her clipboard into Yongguk’s chest.

“This is our latest situational report,” she informed him. “It was delivered one hour ago.”

Yongguk raised an eyebrow; why was she giving him this information? He scanned the sheet nevertheless, and the woman watched as his eyes widened upon seeing the print.

“ _What_ –”

“Compromised. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I…everywhere? Everyone?”

“The entire west sector. Our only hope is the troops who are overseas. That is, if we can find a way to communicate with them.”

“Why are you only telling me?” Yongguk could feel his palms getting clammy; he was sweating.

“I'm not,” the woman replied. “I'm telling you _first_. Oh, and we received a report from the general of your squad just twenty minutes  ago, as well. ⅔ of them made it out, not counting you and your friends. They're currently residing at a camp about 10 miles east of here.”

“So they've cut the boundary further?” Yongguk couldn't believe it. How could something of this altitude occur so quickly?

The woman nodded. “We sent word of your arrival here, and we are to relocate to the nearest camp; we’re too close to the blockade here.”

Yongguk handed the clipboard back to her and he turned to the entrance, eyebrows furrowed with worry. Three of the soldiers he had arrived with were compromised as of now, and then this. Could things be worse?

They were at a standstill.


	4. Privacy

Three more hours passed before Yongguk, Youngjae and Junhong were allowed an update on Jongup.

Yongguk had been asked to explain the sudden predicament of a situation they were all in to the two with him, but they both seemed much less concerned with the military’s status than they were with their fallen friend’s.

The doctor, who had introduced himself as “Doctor Kim Himchan” explained the diagnosis to the three of them with a relatively relieved expression. Relieved by a doctor’s standards, that is.

Jongup was stable; at the moment, at least. The procedure had gone well, putting aside a few hitches and with Yongguk’s help. Daehyun hadn’t had the chance to do much. (before he was rendered incapable of working in such an environment, to put it simply.)

Doctor Kim and the nurses had, with the aforementioned assistance from Yongguk, removed as much of the shattered shrapnel from the wounds and disinfected them, using sutures to close the tears. Luckily nothing had been fractured, but there was severe internal and external bruising.

“So he’ll be okay?” Junhong had asked hopefully.

Doctor Kim sighed. “It is very difficult to tell at this stage, to be perfectly  honest with you,” he replied. “Recovery from wounds such as these is always extremely difficult, not to mention dealing with the mental side effects…”

“Mental?” Junhong tilted his head.

“Yes. And that reminds me,” the doctor pulled a pen from his pocket. “I meant to ask if any of you had knowledge of Jongup’s mental status? If  he may have a history with any sort of mental disorders? It will help with my official diagnosis once he wakes up,” he clarified.

Yongguk glanced at Junhong, seeing the younger look to the ground. Youngjae looked at him as well, an expression of sympathy taking over his features and surprising Yongguk. Had Junhong told him about his past with Jongup?

“I knew– _know_ –him well…” Junhong spoke, seemingly becoming lost in his thoughts.

“Would you mind coming with me then? I’ll only need a few minutes,” the doctor requested.

Junhong nodded his head and followed him into a section of the hospital that was probably Himchan’s office of sorts.

As soon as the two has vanished, Youngjae shifted to face Yongguk.

“I wanted to ask you earlier, but I also don’t want to put any more on Junhong’s shoulders than he already has,” he spoke.

Yongguk rose an eyebrow. “Ask what?”

Youngjae folded his arms across his chest. “Where’s Daehyun?”

At the name of their fellow soldier, Yongguk visibly winced. “I don’t–”

“Don’t lie to me, Yongguk.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” the older shook his head. “I just don’t know if I can disclose that…” he trailed off.

“You’re afraid of getting into trouble? Seriously?”

Yongguk sighed. “No, I just–”

“Did they specifically tell you not to tell anyone?” Youngjae pressed.

“Nobody really _said_ anything when it happened, so I just assumed it would be better to keep quiet. Plus, it’s an invasion of Daehyun’s privacy,” the soldier defended.

Youngjae scoffed. “Look, Yongguk, I hate to be the wet blanket here, but since Jongup is busy, the responsibility falls to me.” He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat before continuing. “To put it bluntly, that is, privacy isn’t going to matter for much longer. First of all, you know we’re all gonna find out eventually anyway. Second of all, who knows how long we’ll be stuck here? It could be _years_ – _years, Yongguk,_ before we get out of here, and that’s if we ever _do_ get out of here.” He paused to take a deep breath, and Yongguk waited for him to continue. He knew that Youngjae was right; he just couldn’t fathom how this had all happened so quickly. Then again, though, this was war, and war had no mercy on its participants.

“Look, you know that no one really knows Daehyun all that well, so I understand why you want to keep his information private. But that doesn’t matter right now. Because I know, and _you_ know, how dire this situation really is. I know you left details out when you explained it before because you were worried about Junhong. But it isn’t that simple, is it? We both know that we won’t survive long here on such limited resources. This situation cannot be taken lightly, and it _especially_ can’t afford to be hidden from anybody; I don’t care if they’re already worried about something else. _This_ takes priority.”

“Junhong didn’t tell you, did he?” Yongguk rested his elbow on his knee, propping his head up with his hand.

“Don’t change the subject.” It was difficult for Youngjae to turn down the silent offering of Junhong’s past with Jongup, but that was something that could wait.

“I’m sorry,” Yongguk apologized. “I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be, aren’t I?”

“Yes, yes you are,” the younger confirmed with a nod.

“To be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure what happened to Daehyun. Well, it's more like I don’t know _why_ it happened,” he corrected himself. “I did notice seemed a little out of it but…”

Youngjae raised a brow. “But _what_?”

“Well, they didn’t really explain to me what exactly happened since we were kind of in the middle of removing shrapnel from Jongup’s wounds, and I didn’t actually _see_ it happen, but suddenly I turned around and he was on the ground,” Yongguk said.

“He was…on the ground.”

“Yeah.”

“And that is significant because…” Youngjae tapped his fingers on his knee impatiently.

“The nurses took him out of the room before I could get a good look, but it was almost like he was having an asthma attack.”

At that, Youngjae cocked his head to the side. “Wouldn’t we know if he had asthma? They wouldn’t even let him into the military if he did, right?”

“Right,” Yongguk agreed. “That’s why I don’t think that's it.”

“Well then what was it? A panic attack or something?”

“I don’t think that was it either; it was less like hyperventilating and more just that he couldn’t breathe, if the way he was clutching his throat and wheezing was any indication.”

Youngjae’s brows furrowed. “We should just ask the doctors instead of trying to figure it out and jumping to conclusions.”

It was only a few minutes later when Doctor Kim emerged from the make-shift building.

Youngjae immediately noticed, however, the absence of the youngest member of their squad. “Where’s Junhong?” He immediately lifted himself with his crutches.

“He wanted to see Jongup,” the doctor replied simply, “so I sent him to his room.”

When Youngjae made to move, however, he was stopped.

“Though, I do need to speak with you two about the condition of…” he sifted through the papers on his clipboard. “Jung…Daehyun, was it?”

* * *

 

Junhong was lost.

Yeah, the hospital wasn’t very big, but everything looked _the same_. The rooms weren’t even numbered; the doctor, who had requested to be referred to by him as “just Himchan, please”, told Junhong to make a left and then a right. And Junhong _had_ made a left and then a right, but there were five doors here. He supposed he could technically just peek into all of them, but he was afraid he might interrupt something or someone. He bit his lip. This was the recovery wing, nothing too important could be going on here, right?

Eventually, he elected to just open every door, because Jongup was more important than anyone else’s privacy, to be honest.

He owed the other boy that much, at the very least.

The first room was empty: only holding a plainly made hospital rollaway bed and an abandoned rack for fluids.

The second room was occupied, but Junhong didn’t recognize the man on the bed, snoring away.

When he pushed open the entry to the third room, neither the occupant nor their nurse noticed his presence right away, but Junhong’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he recognized the patient’s face.

_Daehyun?_

What was he doing in here?

The soldier was sat up on the bed, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face.

“I still don’t see why this is necessary. I’m _fine_.”

The nurse at the table to the right of the bed didn’t reply at first, instead opening a drawer and taking five small vials from it. She washed her hands before tearing open a package that was next to the sink and removing a needle attached to a flexible plastic tube. Junhong noticed she wasn’t wearing gloves; that was strange.

“You had an extremely severe allergic reaction, Jung Daehyun,” she finally replied, wetting a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and grabbing Daehyun’s right arm to swipe the material over the inside of his elbow a few times. “And considering the fact that you were unaware of said allergy, this is _very_ necessary.”

“But…can’t you just do skin tests? I really don’t–” Daehyun winced as the nurse pulled his arm back into her hold and knotted a stretchy blue band around his bicep as a temporary tourniquet and  began to poke at the inside of his elbow in search of a vein.

“For an allergy as severe as yours, a skin test would be dangerous. This will be much easier.” The nurse secured a vial to the end of the tube that was attached to the needle, and placed the other four vials beside her. Daehyun began to look nervous as she lowered the needle to his skin. “I’m going to need you to clench your fist for me, dear,” she said.

Daehyun did as he was told, but Junhong noticed his that arm began to shake a little bit. Daehyun winced as the nurse pushed needle into his protruding vein. The woman removed the tourniquet with her free hand.

As the first vial was filled, she quickly and skillfully swapped it out for the next one, repeating the process three more times. By the time she was finished, Daehyun’s complexion had noticeably paled, and his posture drooped.

“You should rest,” the nurse told him. She collected the vials and made to exit the room. Junhong noticed too late, and she raised her eyebrows at the boy peeking through the doorway.

Junhong’s eyes widened. “Um,” he said intelligently.

“I–sorry, I was just looking for–”

“Junhong?” Daehyun spoke up tiredly from his position on the bed. “What are you doing back here?”

“I should be asking _you_ that,” Junhong crossed his arms over his chest and entered the room. The nurse rolled her eyes and took her leave.

Daehyun just shrugged, sinking further into the pillow behind him and sliding deeper beneath the sheets, careful not to bend the arm with a square of gauze now taped to it. “Sleep now. Questions later,” he mumbled.

“Daehyu–”

“Shhhhhh…”

“Are you ser–”

“Sleepy time, Junhong.” Daehyun spoke with an authority that was difficult for Junhong to take seriously what with his current state.

Quickly realizing that he would get nowhere with Daehyun, Junhong left the room to continue his search for Jongup, who turned out to be in the very next room.

His friend’s state was no surprise, but still proved itself difficult to handle.

Junhong had been doing his best to stay strong: to will away the tears, to swallow down the lump that wouldn’t dissolve from his throat. But when he saw Jongup, he remembered that this wasn’t something he should be hiding his emotions over. This, of all things, was what should be most freely expressive for anyone, and he let the tears roll down his face to their will.

At first, he couldn’t bring himself to fully enter the room. He simply stood there, staring at the figure on the bed with aged, elderly tears running down his cheeks; finally free. Not a sound was made, either. Everything had seemed to quiet around him as he stared at his friend.

The tears, however, were not those of sadness.

Nor were they of relief.

It was difficult to comprehend: nearly losing someone so dear. Despair, maybe.

Junhong bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to unknot the emotions that were waving flags of all different colors around in his brain. He couldn’t find a straightforward explanation as to why he was crying. Maybe he didn’t need to, though.

He stood there for nearly fifteen minutes, perfectly still with his lips slightly parted and shining, wet tracks glittering across his face. His mind felt both overwhelmed and completely empty at the same time.

Only did Junhong enter the room when he realized how dark it was getting. There was a lamp on the table in the corner, so he went to switch it on. He fumbled around the base of the lamp and slid his fingers up to locate the switch. He finally grasped the switch, which turned out to be a turn knob beneath the light bulb, and twisted it to the right. It became obvious that right was not the correct direction, however, when the knob popped off of the lamp.

“Shit,” Junhong fumbled, somehow managing to catch the tiny thing as it fell.

To make a second time being caught in an awkward position that day, the same nurse he had been so formally acquainted with in Daehyun’s room entered and promptly glared at him.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, “I just–it broke and–”

The nurse cut him off with a shake of her head, and placed the tray she had carried in down upon the counter on the other side of the small room. Walking back towards Junhong, she snatched the bit of plastic from his hand and in a flash, the lamp was clicked on and a dim light softly illuminated the room.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as she turned her back and moved to the counter. “I’m Junhong,” he offered.

“I know.”

“Oh.” He tried to mask his surprise at the response, and hesitantly moved to Jongup’s bedside, his pale face now shadowed, but visible. They had dressed him in a plain white hospital gown (though only his right arm was through its respective sleeve; the other had been left without it, no doubt for easier access to the wound), and his left arm had been put in a cloth sling. The rise and fall of his chest was there and steady, albeit slow, but Junhong found himself satisfied with the sight of Jongup _breathing_.

The nurse approached the bed and pulled the fabric from Jongup’s abdomen down on the left side (leaving his right arm through its sleeve), and folding it over his legs.

“What are you doing?” Junhong asked as she lifted a syringe from the tray and brought it to the stitched up wound on Jongup’s abdomen.

“Anesthetics,” she replied, pushing the needle into the tanned skin around the sutures and injecting the serum. “He’ll still be in a lot of pain when he comes to, though,” she added, tossing the used syringe into the waste and taking another one from the tray, this time going for his shoulder.

“When, um,” Junhong coughed suddenly as a new lake of tears began to congregate, “when will that happen?”

The nurse shrugged, “It varies depending on the patient's circulatory system. Hopefully he will as soon as he has a good amount of blood back in his veins and the anesthetics kick in,” the nurse opened her mouth to add something, but hesitated.

Junhong noticed, and his eyes flicked back to her face. “What?”

“I…the doctor will give you more details of, uh, _risks_ and _possibilities_ later…”

Junhong’s face morphed into one of urgency immediately, his eyes widening, causing the release of his welling tears.

“ _Tell me._ ”

“I–I don’t know if I have the authority to do that–” the nurse looked afraid suddenly as Junhong’s face darkened.

Jongup was _his_ best friend. They should be telling him everything there is to know about his condition.

He bit his lip, contemplating his options. Eventually a sigh filled with exhaustion, exasperation, and fear left his mouth, and he seated himself on the small plastic chair beside Jongup’s bed while the nurse collected her things and exited the room.

And then there was silence.

The quiet, steady beep of Jongup’s heart rate monitor was Junhong’s only companion as he frowned, noticing that the nurse had not fixed the placement of Jongup’s gown. Standing up, he let his fingers slide along the rail of the bed, hesitant to touch his injured friend. Eventually, he gently grasped the fabric and unfolded it, pulling the gown back up to cover Jongup’s chest. Junhong caught a glimpse of the sutures in his shoulder and gulped, quick to return to his seat.

And then the silence resumed.

Junhong could almost hear a musical score to fit the scene: a melancholy composition of piano and strings, maybe some rain and thunder, playing softly as a boy watched his best friend with flooding eyes, laying on a hospital bed and barely alive. The camera would focus on the lamp behind him, and then refocus on his mouth, twitching against his will to remain quiet. But then the thunder grew louder as it rumbled closer, and Junhong became riled, the silence of his friend, once the only smiling face he knew, hitting his heart with a sharp shard of stone.

Junhong knew how it felt when reality crashed into him. It’d happened before; once.

White struck across his mind, suddenly pulling his eyes to Jongup’s closed ones as he remembered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) hope you enjoyed! xx


	5. Type B

_Junhong knew how it felt when reality crashed into him. It’d happened before; once._

_White struck across his mind, suddenly pulling his eyes to Jongup’s closed ones as he remembered again._

That face. That body. That voice.

That blood.

And then Junhong was on his knees, grasping Jongup’s hand like a lifeline, shouting and wailing at him not to leave, not to leave him alone, not to let him be alone again. And then he couldn’t see, his vision all watery and things turning invisible as he held Jongup’s hand on his face, the warmth of it a comfort; he had been so cold only a few hours before.

And then suddenly he crashed, his breathing slowed, and his hold on Jongup’s hand became grew gentle and soft.

“ _You scared me before,_ ” he whispered.

* * *

 

_The scent of a church is something that people never forget. The incense, the quiet, the holy water._

_There are many people, only a few pews, at the very back, are left vacant._

_Junhong knows that he is supposed to sit in the front._

_And he does._

_There is a box of tissues at the end of each pew, something he is thankful for as he swipes one and dabs the corners of his eyes._

_It is silent for thirty minutes._

_Everyone stands and turns to watch the procession._

_Junhong knows he was supposed to help carry the casket, but everyone was worried he wouldn’t be able to. He knew they were right._

_He remembered being told that he didn’t want one of those big military funerals when he died._ Just a small one, _he’d said._ Just my family and friends. In a small church, with flowers and gentle music.

_And when the casket was placed directly in front of the first pew, the one that Junhong was in, the music did begin. A piano softly rang out as those assigned to do the readings made their way to the altar._

_There was a lot to be said about this soldier._

_“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” a man, one of his friends, finished and returned to his seat._

_The priest closed the ceremony, and a single bagpipe began playing his favorite song, Amazing Grace. Everybody stood again, and saluted towards the casket. Junhong stood and followed the carriers outside, keeping his face down as he tried to forget the scents of the church._

“–I’m telling you, it’s like he’s in a coma, no matter what I do he won’t–”

“Hey, Choi Junhong.”

Junhong inhaled sharply and sat up, startling Yongguk. “What happened?!”

Yongguk’s hard gaze softened when he got a good look at the younger’s face. “Junhong…”

Youngjae, who had been standing in the doorway, stepped in further and let out a small gasp, quickly turning around and pretending he hadn’t seen anything.

“What?” Junhong looked around. He was in his makeshift “bed” at the clinic.

“Are you alright?” Yongguk placed a hand on his shoulder as his eyebrows furrowed, inspecting Junhong’s face.

“I’m fine, is something wrong?” A sudden thought struck his head, and he looked to Yongguk with eager eyes. “Is Jongup alright? What happened?” Junhong pushed the blanket off and made to stand up, only to be pushed back down.

“Jongup is fine, Junhong. He’s asleep…but I was asking if _you_ were okay…”

“Huh?” Junhong brought a fist to his face and rubbed at his eyes, only then noticing the wetness decorating his cheeks. He immediately threw off his blanket again, ignoring Yongguk’s protests as he pushed him out of the way (he would apologize later) and made for the bathroom.

A few stumbles and a cool, wet washcloth to his face later, Junhong slid to the ground, hidden in a small, empty room, and closed his eyes.

_He’s okay._

_It was just a dream…_

_Just a memory._

* * *

 

Crutches were the most difficult to deal with, Youngjae realized, when he needed their help the most. Yongguk had sent him to scout out Junhong while he went to speak with Daehyun, who was apparently “fine.”

It had officially been 24 hours since the attack, and everyone was starting to grow a little on edge. Daehyun, as it turned out, had a severe allergy to _latex_ (Youngjae wonders how he hid _that_ and joined the army), he himself would be on crutches for at least a month, Jongup had yet to wake up (though it wasn’t supposed to be much longer before he did), Yongguk was fine, and poor Junhong. That kid had obviously seen a rough day or two growing up.

To say Youngjae was curious in regards of Junhong’s relationship with Jongup would be an understatement. He had always thought he was good at reading people, but he just couldn’t figure that guy out. He obviously cared about Jongup immensely, but Youngjae couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, and there was no way in hell he’d be getting it out of Yongguk, who was the only other person that seemed to know about their history together, apparently.

Either way, Youngjae didn’t think it would matter for much longer. He had been given a debriefing of the current situation, and he couldn’t say he had positive feelings about it. Apparently 90% of their bases had been ambushed simultaneously; it hadn’t been just them. He could only pray that the other 10% had gotten the news quickly enough and made to evacuate, but his hopes were low, if he had to be honest. News didn’t travel fast those days.

The medical center was, for lack of a better word, tiny, and Youngjae was certain he had circled the inside at least five times with no come-up of Junhong. A few medical staff has asked if he needed help with something, to which he replied that if they saw Junhong to find him immediately, but it wasn’t until the sixth round that he found the other boy, tucked behind a shelf of ointments in a secluded nook of the place with his head resting against the wall, asleep.

Youngjae’s arms ached as he managed to lower himself so that he was sitting on the ground next to Junhong, and placed his despisable crutches down next to his outstretched leg.

“Junhong?” He shook the boy’s shoulder, and when no response was given, gave a soft poke to his cheek. “Junhong, wake up…”

To the second touch, Junhong jolted, bashing his elbow on the back of the metal rack that he was behind and groaned in pain.

“Son of a–”

“Afternoon,” Youngjae concluded the phrase for him.

Junhong furrowed his eyebrows. Was it afternoon already? How long had he been asleep for? Was something wrong?

“What are you doing hiding back here?” Junhong was startled out of the suddenly panicked train of thought by a soft voice, and, still clutching his elbow, he looked over to see Youngjae sitting beside him.

“How long have you been here?” He asked.

Youngjae shrugged. “Not even a minute, I don’t think. How are you?”

“How’s your ankle feeling?” Junhong dodged the inquiry, and Youngjae rolled his eyes.

“My ankle is fine, Junhong. Don’t change the subject; I was asking about _you.”_

“Why? Nothing happened to me; I’m perfectly fine.” Junhong leaned his head back against the wall.

Youngjae opened his mouth to argue, but took one look at the younger’s hardened expression and changed his mind. “Yongguk is having more blood drawn for Jongup,” he began instead. “They’re thinking he’s showing signs of waking up soon, probably later today.” He knew he’d chosen the right thing to say when he saw Junhong’s face light up with hope. “We got lucky we had someone with a matching blood type…” he added quietly to the side.

Junhong either didn’t hear or simply blocked out the last statement, Youngjae couldn’t tell, and he stood up quickly but stumbled a little as his blood rushed to his feet too fast.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink yet today?” Youngjae’s brow furrowed with concern as Junhong offered him a hand and helped him up. The younger shook his head, but didn’t say anything as he pulled Youngjae off the ground and helped him with his crutches.

Youngjae sighed. “Well, let’s at least get you some water before we go anywhere, okay?”

Junhong looked as though he would oppose, but ended up just nodding and walking alongside Youngjae towards the basin outside, unhooking his empty canteen from around his belt.

* * *

 

            Yongguk sat back in the chair he had been offered and closed his eyes. He didn’t have any problems when it came to having his blood drawn, but when he found himself giving 1 pint of his blood to Jongup within the span of two days, he found himself growing tired. The doctors had panicked when they noticed a shortage of type B in their supply during Jongup’s operation, and he had immediately volunteered to help, having known that he was type O and thus a compatible donor. Doctor Kim, who continuously insisted to him “call me Himchan, please,” was the same, and had a half pint of his own blood drawn by one of the nurses to help out.

            There was a sigh and a soft thump as someone settled into the chair next to Yongguk’s own. He cracked open his left eye to glance over, and sat up when he recognized Doctor Kim. Or, rather, Himchan, as he apparently preferred.

            “You feeling alright? It takes the body a full twenty-four hours to restore a pint of blood,” the doctor spoke.

            “I’m fine,” Yongguk answered.

            “Good,” the other glanced around the room warily, as if to make sure they were alone, and then leaned forward so that he was closer. “Bang Yongguk.”

            “Kim Himchan,” Yongguk parroted.

            The doctor raised an eyebrow at the unexpected response, but quickly cleared his throat and moved his hands so that they were resting atop his lap. “There are a few things I need to discuss with you.”

            “Regarding the patients?” Yongguk asked, folding his arms across his chest.

            “Partially,” Himchan answered. “But there is something else.”

            “Give me the good news first,” Yongguk decided.

            Himchan sighed. “Good news is scarce these days, I’m afraid.”

            “Mediocre news, then.”

            “Alright, then. I figure, considering your reputation, that you may know of things most haven’t heard,” Himchan began, faltering a bit when Yongguk raised his eyebrows.

            “You’ve heard of me.” He didn’t miss the pink tint that appeared on the doctor’s cheeks at his words.

            “So,” Himchan went on anyway, ignoring Yongguk’s comment. “I want to ask you why the medical stations have been cut off from updates on all military status until today,” he finished, sitting back in his chair and crossing a leg over his knee.

            Yongguk mentally blanched, but kept his expression neutral. “Excuse me? This is the first I’m hearing of any communicative embargo.”

            “So we’re on the same page, fantastic,” Himchan said frustratedly, running his fingers through his hair, before suddenly pausing his actions. “Unless you’re lying.”

            “Why would I lie to you in this situation?”

            “Because if you don’t you could be severely punished,” Himchan suggested.

            “What makes you say that?”

            “Only the fact that you’re an ace up the military’s sleeve,” Himchan quipped.

            Yongguk took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m no one’s playing card,” he growled. “War isn’t some game of _roulette_.”

            “Whoa,” Himchan held his hands in front of him in surrender. “I never said that; don’t get all free-thinker on me, we have serious issues at hand.”

            “Whatever,” Yongguk sat back in his seat. “I don’t involve myself with the so called “big dogs” anymore, and I’m no liar for them.”

            “So, you have no idea why we’re being ostracized?”

            “I would tell you if I did.”

            “Alright, I believe you; but would you agree to help investigate if I asked you to?”

            “More or less,” Yongguk agreed. “They’ve been up to something, I could see right through our general’s cover-ups, and this information only confirms my suspicions.”

            “I think we’ll talk more about this later, then, with my communications assistant. She’s the only one who receives direct contact, but she’s also under a secrecy oath.” Himchan cleared his throat. “Anyway.” He reached backwards to the table to his left, retrieving a clipboard, and flipped a couple pages over. “There are no new updates on Moon Jongup at the moment, but there is something that concerns me regarding Jung Daehyun.” He looked up, as if asking Yongguk for permission to continue, to which the other nodded. The doctor hesitated before once again opening his mouth. “How long have you known this man?”

            Yongguk furrowed his eyebrows, but answered still. “Only a few months,” he replied. “Just since we were put into the same squadron to station some ways away from here.”

“Do you know where he’s from?”

“I–no. I’m not sure why I would have asked him that,” Yongguk looked back to Himchan, who cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the papers on his lap.

“Well, to get straight to the point, then…he has no medical records.”

“What do you mean he has no medical records? An immunization and disease history record is required to apply for a position in the army; for drafted soldiers, as well,” Yongguk argued confusedly.

“That’s what concerns me,” Himchan said, pushing the clipboard into Yongguk’s hands. “According to all accessible archives, Jung Daehyun doesn’t exist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to all for reading, and of course for leaving kudos and comments; it really is so appreciated. <3


	6. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief break from all the angst. though tbh this might be the only happiness for a while there's a big storm comin whoops

_“According to all accessible archives, Jung Daehyun doesn’t exist.”_

“I…excuse me?”

Himchan gestured to the papers, and Yongguk looked to study them. It was a list of names, in alphabetical order. There was a red arrow drawn into a space between two names, a question mark next to the line. Daehyun’s name wasn’t there.

“I don’t understand,” Yongguk handed the clipboard back to Himchan. “What does this mean?”

“His name is missing from the list of enrollments for the past decade,” Himchan began, “What it _means_ is that either his name is an alias and he’s hiding something for whatever reason, which is, obviously, illegal, or he’s _being_ hidden: kept a secret.”

“But why–”

“That’s why I asked you,” Himchan interrupted. “I don’t know.”

“Then why not–”

“Doctor Kim!”

Both men turned to the door at the new voice, and Himchan immediately rose upon seeing that it was one of the nurses.

“What is it,” he asked as he tucked his clipboard beneath his arm, straightening out his shirt. “Did something happen?” Himchan pushed his sleeve up and checked his watch: 18:10.

“Room 2D,” the nurse replied. “I’m going to get more anesthetics from the storage room, so I’ll meet you there in a few.”

“Who’s in that room?” Yongguk stands up, looking between the other two.

Himchan turned to beckon Yongguk to follow him into the hall, power walking down the short corridor.

“Moon Jongup.”

* * *

 

            The first thing Jongup saw when he opened his eyes was nothing. He was only blind for a brief second, however, before his vision managed to coalesce.

            “Whoa,” he muttered dizzily, voice raspy and quiet as he blinked at the ceiling. He could hear quick footsteps approach and enter the room he was in, but the sound was muffled, as though it was being transmitted to him underwater. It was then that he realized he was not in his own cot, back at the base, and that he couldn’t move his limbs.

            When an unfamiliar face appeared above him, Jongup swallowed (with difficulty) and tried to speak, but his voice barely came out above a whisper, and the man leaned forward, asking for Jongup to repeat himself.

            “Can’t move m’arm,” was the best he managed to get out, followed by a wheeze, but the man seemed to understand, and moved closer to Jongup before he spoke.

            “It’s alright.” His voice was calming as Jongup’s hearing recovered, and the sound rang clear. “You lost a lot of blood, try not to worry right now.”

            “Youngjae okay?”

            The man above him looked surprised at the statement. “You remember what happened?”

            Jongup nodded, but winced at the movement. Suddenly it was brought to his attention that he was in immense pain, and he groaned as the sensation ached in his torso. He saw the man motion to the other side of his bed, and he turned his head to see a woman lowering a needle to his arm. He tried to ignore the sting when the sharp was pushed into his skin, breaking past and into his vein, but he couldn’t help the way he could feel his face twist at the feeling.

 

            Yongguk watched from the end of the bed as Jongup’s face contorted into one of pain, and he bit his lip. The injection he had just received was a muscle-relaxer, according to Himchan.

            “How long will it take to kick in?”

            “Should be about fifteen or twenty minutes,” Himchan answered as he pressed his fingers into Jongup’s right wrist, settling his gaze on the watch fastened around his own. He pulled away a moment later and picked up a pen from the table next to the bed. “One-o-eight…” he murmured as he scribbled the numbers onto the paper. “Good.”

            Yongguk watched Himchan fumble around a bit with the bags on the fluid rack, checking the volume of the remainder of his own blood and the intravenous rehydration solution before he placed his pen and clipboard down on the table.

            “When the meds kick in we’ll need to try to get him to eat something,” Himchan said as he sat down in the chair by the bedside. “Might be difficult,” he added.

            “Why would it be difficult?” Yongguk moved closer to him.

            “He has no energy,” Himchan answered. “He’s essentially running on fumes and an IV right now. He’ll need to start slow, at least,” he finished, running a hand through his hair.

            “But wouldn’t that make him want to eat more?” Yongguk grew confused.

            “Well, maybe, but since it’s been over a full day, I would assume his body’s gone numb to the hunger, especially since the IV is keeping him hydrated.”

            “You didn’t answer my question,” Jongup’s quiet voice broke through the silence so abruptly; Yongguk had nearly forgotten he was awake. In a second he was kneeling by Jongup’s side, heavy eyes watching him carefully.

            “Youngjae’s fine, Jongup,” he said. “We’re all okay.”

            At his words, Jongup’s chest fell as he released a deep breath. “I want to see them.”

            Yongguk looked back at Himchan, who nodded his head and motioned for him to go.

            “I’ll go find them,” Yongguk said as he stood, and then made his way out of the room.

 

            Once Yongguk was gone, Himchan spoke up again. “So, Jongup,” he started. Jongup turned his head to face him. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

            Jongup’s brow furrowed. “Not specifically, I don’t think. But I do remember a fuck ton of hurt. Where are we? And who are you?”

            Himchan mentally face palmed. He hadn’t even introduced himself. “Doctor Kim Himchan,” he said, nodding at Jongup. “Your friends brought you here; the medical station about 40 miles southeast of your previous station.”

            “I assume my injuries are pretty bad?”

            “You got yourself shot twice, Jongup.”

            “Oh.”

            Himchan rose a brow, but decided not to question Jongup’s seemingly nonchalance attitude concerning the situation. “Let me know when the pain starts to fade a bit,” he said instead.

            “I can do that.”           

* * *

 

            Junhong was the first one in the room, having loudly sprinted down the hall as soon as the news left Yongguk’s lips. Youngjae hobbled after him on his crutches while Yongguk moved on to locate Daehyun.

            Junhong had to refrain from launching himself onto Jongup when he saw his friend smile at him.

            “Hey, Junhong,” Jongup greeted him. Junhong couldn’t do much other than smile back as his friend reached up with his good arm to wipe the few tears from his cheeks, and he grabbed his hand, removing it from his face and holding on. “I wasn’t out for too long, was I?” Jongup chuckled weakly, slightly amused at Junhong’s excitement. “What time is it?”

            Junhong looked to Himchan, unsure of the answer.

            “18:45,” the doctor supplied.

            It was then that Youngjae finally made it into the room. “Jesus, Junhong,” he wheezed, “would it have killed you to wait for me?” As soon as he made it to the bedside, Himchan rose and offered him his seat, to which Youngjae said thank you and sat down, resting his crutches against the side of the chair.

            Junhong ignored Youngjae’s question, instead choosing to remain focused on his slightly more severely injured friend. “How do you feel,” he asked, releasing his hold on Jongup’s hand and looking him over.

            “I’ve been better,” Jongup replied, “but the pain is starting to let up just a bit.”

            “Think you can handle a little water?” Himchan interjected, looking inquisitively at Jongup with his arms folded across his chest.

            “Go for it,” Jongup said.

            Himchan left the room, and Jongup turned back to Junhong. “Help me sit up?”

            When Yongguk found Daehyun, he was sound asleep. He had joined the rest of them after the results for his bloodwork came back, since his (now confirmed) latex allergy wasn’t exactly considered an urgent situation. Thoughts concerning the younger man’s identity threatened to surface in his mind, but Yongguk pushed them back down. That could wait until the next day.

            Yongguk approached the small cot that the snores were echoing from, and nudged the lump of blanket that was Daehyun as he called his name.

            “Daehyun.”

            When he showed no signs of stirring, Yongguk decided a little more force was necessary.

            “Daehyun,” he raised his voice and yanked the blanket from its confines of Daehyun’s grip.

            As soon as his bare feet were exposed to the air, Daehyun’s eyes were open. He sat up quickly, spluttering a bit and shaking his head to dispel the dizziness his quick action had brought on. “What–” Daehyun whipped his head around, turning to face Yongguk. “What is it? Did I sleep in too late?” He gasped as a thought came to mind, and tumbled out of the bed, stumbling to gain balance as his feet hit the hard ground. “Are we being ambushed again?!” Yongguk grabbed his shoulder to steady his movements.

            “No, no,” he shook his head. Daehyun looked at him with wild eyes. “ Calm down; I just came to let you know that Jongup is awake.”

            “Oh!” Daehyun’s voice was still a little thick with sleep, but his eyes widened. “How’s he feeling?”

            Yongguk grimaced a bit. “Well, I think he’s been better, but pretty good for someone with a couple gun wounds.”

            Daehyun let a sigh of relief out. “Oh, thank goodness. Man, he did _not_ look good the other day, I was worried about him…especially with the whole ‘apparently we’re in the middle of an impasse’ situation going on at the moment.”

            “I agree,” Yongguk nodded his head. “It would be best to have everyone conscious right about now. Come on,” he waved for Daehyun to follow him out of the room, and they made their way down the hall. He caught himself glancing at Daehyun a few times as they made their way to Jongup’s room, question upon question flooding his mind. He wondered if Daehyun was hiding something, or maybe if something was being hidden from _Daehyun_ himself. Maybe there had simply been a glitch in the system? But if that was the case, then how could Daehyun have even been allowed to apply with his allergy? Were his medical files lost?

            Did it even matter at that point?

Yongguk knew that there were some much bigger problems at hand. The information supplied by Himchan had only heightened his suspicions that there were some very important things being kept by the higher-ups from them. Even the general they had been stationed with seemed to think his own boss had been acting a little off before the ambush, as he had so indirectly expressed the last time the full station had a gathering.

Either something was being kept from them, or the higher-ups themselves we’re the ones in the dark. 

* * *

 

Soon enough, the two had joined the other four at Jongup’s bedside. Junhong was busying himself by pushing another pillow behind Jongup’s back gently to help prop him up more securely. Himchan moved closer, twisting the cap from a bottle of water in his hands.

“Here,” Himchan dropped the plastic cap on the table next to himself and moved the open bottle to Jongup’s mouth.

“No, no,” Jongup interrupted. “I got it.” He lifted his right arm and took the water from Himchan’s hold, seeming to surprise the doctor, and brought it to his lips. He immediately groaned when he took the first sip. “Jesus, I never thought I’d love the taste of water so much,” he said before taking a large gulp.

“Does that mean you feel well enough to eat something?” Himchan asked.

“Hell, yeah.”

Soon Himchan was gone again, and Daehyun moved to sit on the edge of the bed with Junhong, and he looked up to where Yongguk was standing. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he began. At Yongguk’s confused look, he continued. “For, um,” he hesitated, “you know, my little ‘freezing up during a life demanding procedure’ thing? And then the episode in which I started hyperventilating–”

“It’s not your fault, Daehyun,” Yongguk interrupted.

Youngjae looked on as the two spoke. He couldn’t deny that Daehyun’s apparent allergy to latex had been tossed around in his mind quite a bit lately, and he had been waiting to approach him about the topic. How could he not have known? His attention was brought away from the subject when Himchan re-entered the room with a small baggie in his grasp. Junhong immediately snatched the bag from the doctor’s hold, to which he didn’t argue, and scooted closer to Jongup, taking the water he was holding and placing it on the table. Youngjae reached over to screw the cap back onto its bottle.

“Junhong, I can feed myse–” Jongup’s protest was cut off abruptly by none other than a cracker, and he rolled his eyes, opening his mouth further to accept the offering.

Youngjae had to admit that it was amusing watching the two friends bicker; he had seen, first-hand, just how much Junhong had been worrying over Jongup’s condition, and Jongup seemed to understand his friend’s motives as well as he allowed Junhong to feed him, saying things like “no, Jongup, don’t sit up further, Daehyun can get you another pillow so you don’t strain your abdominal muscles or tear the stitches” and “you’d better finish every single one of these crackers”.

“Ewww!! _Jongup!_ ”

“Hey, if you’re so bent on my recovery, why not let _me_ put the food in my _own_ mouth?” Jongup’s voice was weak, but Youngjae could tell he was trying to make light of the situation, maybe in attempt to ease Junhong’s worries, or his own.

“You could’ve just said that,” Junhong whined playfully, “no need to go trying to bite my fingers off!”

“I poked your index finger with my tongue; calm down, Junnie,” Jongup laughed a little, but his mouth twisted downward at the motion that clenched his abdomen a bit.

Youngjae rolled his eyes. “Just give him the damn crackers, Junhong,” he said with an amused smile.

Junhong grumbled a bit in disagreement, but finally negotiated that he would hold the bag and hand the crackers to Jongup, one by one.


	7. Dusk

Daehyun let his head rest back on the door of the jeep as he dropped his legs to the sandy ground. It was nearly dusk, the sun just beginning to filter the light into different hues of the sky. It was hot all the time there, and Daehyun hated it.

He ran his fingers through the loose ground and looked at Junhong, who was sitting next to him, chin resting on his drawn-up knees and his eyes closed. Daehyun couldn’t help but notice how young the kid looked like this, how peaceful he seemed. There was no way he could’ve been older than twenty, right? He could see small scars on each of Junhong’s earlobes, four total, and one on the side of his nose. It was too bad they weren’t allowed more jewelry than their dog tags in the army; Daehyun thought Junhong would’ve looked nice with hoops in his ears and a stud on his nose.

He let out a sigh and looked away, back to where the sun was now beginning to disappear. How was time passing so quickly? It had been nearly a full day since Jongup had woken up, and all of them were relatively relaxed, but no one had dared to mention their current, tough position, due to its seemingly taboo nature. Daehyun knew they would need to make some sort of plan soon, the resources there were limited, and no one had received any communication from any other sectors since the five of them had arrived.

As hot as it was during the daytime, it got just as cold once the sun was out of sight, and Daehyun shook Junhong awake as the sky darkened, having noticed him beginning to shiver in his sleep.

“Hey,” he nudged Junhong’s shoulder, “we gotta go back in now.”

Junhong just nodded and pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand to Daehyun.

It was warmer inside for sure, but the massive tent that was the station didn’t do much to insulate them as the temperatures continued to drop. The doctor, nurses and patients had space heaters in their rooms, seeing as they had been placed to stay there long-term, but Yongguk, Daehyun, Youngjae and Junhong were forced to rely on a limited supply of blankets, or, in Youngjae and Junhong’s case as of late, each other. When those two had gotten so close Daehyun didn’t know.

Just as Daehyun was about to fall into his makeshift bed, someone called his name, and he turned around, surprised to see Yongguk standing behind him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hm?” Daehyun inquired tiredly. He really wanted to sleep.

“Do you have a minute?”

Daehyun knew that Yongguk was only asking to be polite. What else would he be doing? It wasn’t like they could’ve gone anywhere.

“Sure,” he spoke carefully as not to disturb Youngjae and Junhong, who appeared to already be fast asleep, snuggled together for more warmth. He gave his bed a longing glance before following Yongguk to sit on the end of his own mattress.

His fingers played with the edge of a blanket as he looked down, waiting for Yongguk to speak first.

“Daehyun,” Yongguk cleared his throat, and he looked up to meet a hardened gaze, almost gulping at the look that seared right through him.

“Where are you from?”

Daehyun’s brows drew together. _Where was he from?_ “That’s a good question,” he replied, then hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

Yongguk raised an eyebrow, and Daehyun immediately regretted his evasion; it made him look suspicious. He didn’t have anything to hide per say, it just wasn’t something he had much interest in addressing.

Yongguk opened his mouth but hesitated, his eyes working as if he was trying to put the right sentence together in his head. “Answer my question first, and I’ll tell you,” he finally settled for.

Daehyun frowned and looked back to the corner of blanket he had been rubbing between his index finger and thumb. Fair enough. He shrugged, letting the fabric fall from his fingers and looking to the ground. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Yongguk repeated, confused and pondering. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know.”

Yongguk raised a brow, a silent question to elaborate, and Daehyun groaned internally.

“I was raised in an orphanage in the Sixteenth District,” Daehyun said quietly, glancing back at the other two soldiers across the room. Their breathing was steady, in synch with each other’s.

Yongguk pressed his lips together. _Sixteenth. That would explain the slight accent he had detected._ “How old were you when you started living there?”

“I don’t know that either,” Daehyun licked his lips, meeting Yongguk’s gaze again. “They told me that I was a toddler when they found me in the streets, so probably three or four.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how old I am.” He laughed dryly, but his voice lacked any trace of humor, “hell, I don’t even know my own birthday,” he added.

“I’m sorry,” Yongguk bit his lip, not quite knowing how to continue.

“They made up a birthday for me, though, so that they could kick me out when I turned seventeen,” Daehyun spoke up again after a few moments of quiet.

Yongguk’s eyes widened a bit. “Where did you go after that, then?”

“…around,” Daehyun shrugged, keeping his gaze locked on his feet as best he could with only the light from the lantern on the table next to Yongguk’s bed illuminating him. “You said you were gonna tell me why you asked,” Daehyun changed the subject before Yongguk could ask any more questions. He really didn’t want to discuss his past. That’s all it was: _past._

“Right,” Yongguk shook his head, as if exiting a trance of some sort. “Your allergy.”

Daehyun cringed. He was still embarrassed about that incident. “What about it?”

“You didn’t know about it.”

“No.” Daehyun didn’t understand what Yongguk was getting at with this. What did a latex allergy have to do with where he came from or why he asked?

“Daehyun,” Yongguk shook his head again, as if trying to understand something. “An allergy like that is practically a freebie _out_ of the military,” he said. “How did you get in with no medical files?”

Oh. “Um,” Daehyun supplied eloquently.

“No files at all, in fact,” Yongguk continued, “you’re not on the list of recruits. Do you even have a dog tag?”

“Right, uh,” Daehyun swallowed and fingered the chain around his neck.

It wasn’t a dog tag.

Dammit. He really hadn’t wanted to get into all of this. It wasn’t like it mattered at that point, anyway. “Well…” he trailed off awkwardly.

There was a minute of silence before he spoke again. “It was an accident,” he blurted out of nowhere. “I just––I’m really good at sneaking around, sometimes unintentionally, and, well…I didn’t _mean_ to not get discovered, but then there was free food and shelter and clothes and stuff, so, I added my name to the sergeant’s rosters, and, well…” he trailed off awkwardly, gesturing at nothing. “All I had to do in return for those things was whatever they told me to. I already had good stamina, and I knew how to shoot a gun…”

Yongguk watched Daehyun as he spoke quickly, trying to process the new information. “Okay,” Yongguk interrupted, stopping Daehyun mid-sentence. “That’s all I needed to know.” He stood up and made to leave, but a hand caught his wrist.

“Wait,” Daehyun squeaked, and Yongguk paused, looking back at him. “Don’t report me. Please,” Daehyun bit his lip. “I’m not doing any harm…well, maybe taking up resources, but I’m also giving back with my services or whatever, just, please––“

“Calm down, Daehyun,” Yongguk awkwardly rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not gonna do anything. We’re already in a tight spot as it is. I don’t think we need any drama of that sort right now. To be honest, you’re still a little suspicious, but at this point, I’ll let it slide.” He shifted on his feet. “Just had to make sure you weren’t going to cause any immediate danger,” he spoke the last bit more softly and turned again to take his leave.

“You don’t believe what I told you?”

Yongguk paused, already across the room. “I believe you,” he said without looking back at Daehyun, and exited the room.

He knew how to tell the truth from a lie.

* * *

 

“So, what did you need me for?” Daehyun sat down on the edge of a raised bed in one of the exam rooms, and the nurse who had summoned him closed the door behind her. “Did the results of my lab come in?”

“They did, but there’s something else we need to address before that,” she said opening a cabinet and pulling out a tray holding a sealed syringe. Daehyun watched as she put the tray down next to him and pulled out a drawer, lifting a disinfectant solution and a cotton swab from it to join the items already on the tray.

“What’s all this for?” Daehyun inched backward a bit. He wasn’t a huge fan of needles.

“Oh, I should explain,” the nurse laughed lightly, reaching into her pocket to pull out a bottle with a blank, white label. “We were issued a new immunization order, so Doctor Kim asked me to administer it to you all.”

Daehyun sighed. Fantastic; he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a shot.

The nurse tore open the packaging around the syringe and unscrewed the lid from the bottle, fitting the end of the needle into the top and flipping it over to measure the vaccine.

“Uh, so which vaccine is this?” Daehyun asked, cringing as she placed the syringe back on the tray and dampened the cotton ball in the disinfectant solution.

“I can’t disclose that yet,” she answered quickly, swiping the cotton over the inside of his elbow and reaching for the tourniquet. “It’s just a precautionary thing for now, issued by the higher-ups for all of us.”

“Hey, hey wait…I wanna know what you’re putting in me.” He pulled his arm back a little bit, but the nurse held fast.

“You’ll have to ask Doctor Kim,” she said, and Daehyun groaned. “This one has to go right in the vein.” She poked around until she found the right vein, and then lifted the needle to his skin. “It might make you a bit drowsy for the next couple days, though,” she said as she pushed the metal into his arm. “So, don’t worry if you or your friends are a little lacking in energy.”

 

As soon as she had secured a square of gauze to his skin, Daehyun was on his feet, albeit a little woozy, headed back to the room.

He managed to bump into Youngjae on his way there, just outside of Jongup’s room. The entrance was covered with a flap-like, makeshift door, just like all the others, so Daehyun could easily hear what was going on beyond it.

“Jongup, _please–”_ he heard Junhong’s voice, slightly muffled.

“What’s going on?” He stepped closer to Youngjae, keeping his voice down.

“I’m not sure,” Youngjae shrugged. “I was just looking for Junhong, but then I heard crying, so I figured it would be best not to go in…”

Suddenly the flap was pulled to the side and Yongguk stepped out, an arm around Junhong’s shoulders. He was sniffling, his face buried in Yongguk’s shoulder. Youngjae met Yongguk’s gaze, and turned to follow them down the hallway, not looking back. Daehyun stared after them. “What…?”

It took him a minute to snap out of his confusion, and he turned, pushing the flap to the side and entering Jongup’s room to find out what was going on.

Nothing seemed to be wrong at first. Jongup was just lying on the bed, his head tilted to the left and eyes open, staring at the wall. Himchan was on his other side, speaking softly to him, but Jongup didn’t seem to hear him. Daehyun cleared his throat, and the doctor looked up quickly.

“Daehyun.” Himchan strode over to him quickly, putting a hand on his arm and glancing back at Jongup as he moved. “You should leave.”

“What’s going on?” Daehyun didn’t budge. “Why’s Junhong crying? Is he okay?” He peered over Himchan’s shoulder to look at Jongup again.

“Junhong is fine. If you could step out, please–”

“I wasn’t asking about Junhong, Doctor Kim.” Daehyun licked his lips. “And I want to know what’s going on, now.” Himchan sighed heavily as he continued, “it’s been, what, two weeks? With no incidents. Hasn’t he been making progress?”

Himchan pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Yes, he’s making progress, it’s just…I don’t know. I’m not sure what happened.” He turned and made his way back to Jongup’s bedside, looking down at his face.

Jongup glanced at Daehyun briefly before returning his gaze to the wall.

The action seemed to surprise Himchan, who’s eyes widened, almost comically, as his mouth dropped open. “Oh, my god,” he exclaimed. “That’s the first acknowledgement he’s given in the past six hours.”

“Huh?”

Himchan shook his head and leaned on the railing of the bed. “He’s been completely unresponsive. I can’t figure out what’s wrong, obviously, because he won’t talk to me, but you–you just–”

“What?” Daehyun was so confused. “What did I do? He just looked at me, isn’t that normal?”

“No, no, it’s fantastic…I didn’t know what to do, but this is good, it’s so good…” Himchan trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

Daehyun looked back at Jongup, who hadn’t seemed to move any further.

“I’m gonna step out for a little bit, just to check on everyone else,” the doctor continued.

Daehyun opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately interrupted.

“You stay here. Try to, I don’t know…just talk to him or something, this is progress, this is good. I’ll be back.”

And then Himchan was gone, leaving Daehyun to his own devices.

He slowly returned his gaze to Jongup, who still hadn’t shifted in the slightest, and sighed, making his way to the chair by the bed. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down. Jongup didn’t move, but he was facing him. Daehyun watched him blink and stare for a couple minutes, trying to come up with something to say. He drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair, and began humming a bit, unconsciously. They remained like that for about five more minutes, until a quiet, frustrated growl was heard.

“Would you cut that out?”

Daehyun jumped and squeaked a little bit. Jongup was glaring at him, though it seemed half-hearted, but Daehyun met his gaze, choosing not to falter, either.

“I win,” Jongup announced monotonously after a beat.

“What?” Daehyun watched as he shifted so that he was looking at the ceiling, resting fully on his back.

“You blinked.”

Daehyun blinked (again, apparently), and then laughed. “Can I lose a game I didn’t know I was playing?”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“Yes.”

Jongup’s reply came in a somber tone, and immediately silenced Daehyun, who licked his lips and tugged at the tape holding the gauze to his arm. Jongup was still looking at him, but it seemed as if he didn’t realize it. He was just staring, not really moving, but Daehyun thought that the three words he had managed to elicit from him were progress according to what Himchan had told him of the situation.

“You almost got yourself killed to help Youngjae.”

Jongup blinked at Daehyun.

“You didn’t have to," he elaborated.

At this, Jongup’s brow furrowed. “No one _has_ to do anything, Daehyun.”

“You know my name.” Daehyun found himself surprised.

“Himchan said it when you came in.”

Right. “I guess he did,” Daehyun scratched the back of his head. “You were listening?”

At a lack of response, he tried another approach. “So, did he tell you that ‘Doctor Kim’ was his father and that you should call him ‘just Himchan, please’ too?”

His answer was more silence, and Daehyun cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He didn’t even know this guy. Sure, he’d seen him around the station over the past few months, but the two had never actually spoken to each other. Daehyun had to admit, he was a bit enticed by Jongup. There was so much he wanted to know. Why had Jongup risked his life to help Youngjae, who would’ve been able to radio for help anyway?

Daehyun face-palmed, and the action didn't go unnoticed by Jongup.

It couldn’t have been the case that Jongup _knew_ Youngjae had a radio with him; the kid probably thought that he was as good as dead if left behind.

Daehyun had seen many people in pain in the past, and he had seen his fair number of gun wounds. He knew that Jongup had gotten lucky. So why was he seemingly so somber? Though, Daehyun supposed, he himself had never been on the receiving end of a gun (despite having had a few close calls), so could he really question Jongup’s reactions?

“Why me?” He found himself asking.

Luckily, Jongup seemed to understand that he was referring to his broken silence when he sighed out a response: “I guess…," he hesitated, "because you’re a neutral party.”

“A neutral party?” Daehyun parroted, not understanding.

Jongup shrugged. (At least, as much as he could with his injuries and sling.)

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like things are getting angsty again...whoops :))))
> 
> a little slow at the moment, but don't worry. things are going to pick up very soon.


	8. Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so this is why the story is rated M
> 
> WARNING: telling of past death/murder, swearing, implied suicidal actions/behavior
> 
> Italics = flashback

_Jongup shrugged. At least, as much as he could with his injuries and sling._

_“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know.”_

He had certainly had a difficult time with Junhong. He understood his friend’s devastation, he really did, but it was simply overwhelming for him. Only a few hours earlier, Jongup had watched as Junhong completely broke down at the sight of him shedding a few tears while a nurse disinfected his wounds and changed his bandages. It had been plenty more than enough to send Jongup into a second wind.

He had often struggled in the “coping with stuff” department, especially when said stuff involved events that he was powerless over, like, for instance, him getting shot twice and worrying his best friend beyond tears.

Jongup could recall once avoiding his own brother for two weeks because he had, on some strange whim and the influence of alcohol, revealed something to him that only one other person had known about at the time: Junhong; and in his household, it was better left unspoken. He could remember the times he would catch his brother watching at him, glancing over as if trying to find an explanation behind his eyes. So Jongup hid his secrets, his feelings; he would not be vulnerable.

That was only two years before he and Junhong left to serve in the military. When his parents asked why they chose to enlist, Junhong said that they should look at it as a sort of repayment for their kindness in taking care of him for eight years: he would protect them just like they had protected him. When they looked pointedly at Jongup for his reasoning, he had shrugged and continued to silently pack his things for basic training.

They left that evening with minimal goodbyes and only a brief second glance back.

* * *

 Junhong bit his lip and scooted closer to where Youngjae was seated against the wall.

“Why does he have to be in a private sector?” He mumbled. “Why didn’t they put him in general hospice, right next to us?” He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them.

Youngjae frowned at him. “The doctor probably wants to keep his treatment isolated,” he said. “Plus, he’s without a doubt gonna need physical therapy eventually, and that’s…,” he hesitated, and Junhong looked up. “That’s hard,” he finished.

“I don’t understand,” Junhong argued, shaking his head, “Why can’t _I_ be with him, at least? Why won’t he talk to me now? I need to help him, I need to take care of him like he took care of me!” He fisted the front of Youngjae’s shirt. “What did I do wrong, Youngjae? Why–”

Youngjae shushed him. “I can’t answer that.” He pulled the crying boy to his chest, and Junhong deflated a bit.

“He saved _me_. Why can’t I do a thing to save _him?”_

_The first time Junhong had to say goodbye, he was six years old._

_The wreck of a first-floor apartment his family lived in was by no means located in a good area for children, but it was home to Junhong. It was where he could run into the arms of his mother and hide from the kids who teased him in school. It was where he could find solace beneath his big brother’s blankets when it would storm at night._

_“Bad noises?” His brother would ask him, lifting the blankets so that Junhong could crawl in and curl up at his side, face buried in his chest._

_“Really bad this time,” Junhong would mumble softly where his hands fisted his brother’s t-shirt. Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything, just worm his way into the warmth. And his brother was always there: a hero, holding him securely with strong arms, and always watching to ward off the mean thunder._

_And then one day his brother left. He left Junhong crying, trying to break past the barrier that was his mother’s arms for fear of losing such a dear loved one._

_He stopped struggling when his brother turned and kneeled in front of him, a sad smile on his face._

_“I’m not leaving you, Junnie,” he spoke quietly like he did on those loud nights with the bad noises. “I’m just… going on a trip for a while.”_

_Junhong frowned. “Then why are you crying?”_

_“Well, because I’ll miss you, of course!” His brother winked at him. “Who am I gonna cuddle with while I’m away?”_

_Junhong swallowed, the sniffles stuck in his throat. “But I don’t want you to go.”_

_His brother glanced up at their mother, before looking back down at Junhong. “It’s only for a little while,” he said. He gave Junhong’s hair a ruffle, and stood._

_He stared up at his brother with wide, shining eyes, and watched silently, for what he did not know what the last time, his brother cross the rust-covered threshold of their home._

“Junhong, sometimes you don’t need to give back.” Youngjae rubbed circles into his shoulders, but Junhong shook his head.

“You don’t understand.”

 

_The first time Junhong watched death steal a life, he was twelve years old and on his way home from his brother’s funeral._

_“Junhong, sweetie, I need you to stay behind me, okay?”_

_He could hear his mother’s voice shaking. Why had she stopped walking? They were almost back, just a few blocks past one of their favorite restaurants along the strip. It was quiet, and there was no one around. He looked up from where he had been staring at his shiny black shoes, watching as they glistened with the rain drops that the night had casted to them._

_He had never seen this man before, and he didn’t like him one bit. He stood in front of Junhong and his mother, hands in the pockets of his slacks, and mouth grinning around the stub of a long-doused cigar. One hand traveled to the inside of his jacket, and Junhong’s mother pushed at her son’s shoulder, motioning for him to stay back._

_“Make this easy and hand over the kid,” the man said. His voice sent chills up and down Junhong’s body. Was he talking about him?_

_His mother did not speak, and in response, the man pulled his hand out of his jacket to reveal a heavy-looking, black pistol. He nudged at his sunglasses with the nozzle of the weapon casually, then sighed and clicked his tongue. “Why do the mothers always make this so difficult? Shoulda just waited ‘till the little bitch was alone.”_

_“Don’t you dare lay a finger on him,” Junhong’s mother spoke firmly, but her face betrayed the façade of bravery._

_The man leaned against the wall and held out the gun, pointing it at his mother’s head. “Hm. Ya know, you’re kinda scary for a frail old woman,” he laughed bitterly. “But I know a guy or two who might just pay me a handsome coin or two to get a pretty young boy like you,” he jerked the gun in Junhong’s direction, “off a’ these streets and into their be––” his sentence was cut off with a loud crack, and suddenly Junhong’s mother was torn away from him._

_“Fuckin' bitch,” the man seethed, “think you can land one hit and heroically save your little priss of a son?” His mother clawed at the arm around her throat, eyes wide, tears leaking down. The man pressed the gun to the side of her head, and Junhong fell to his knees, hard, on the sidewalk._

_The man’s voice was muffled when he next spoke, Junhong watching in slow motion as his mother tried to scream at him to “run, Junhong, run”._

_“Watch closely, Little Bitch,” he growled with a wicked smile, but Junhong didn’t hear the words._

_The rain continued at its own pace, soaking Junhong’s hair as he trembled on the ground, frozen in place and fear._

_“Never forget how your freedom died.”_

 

“What don’t I understand?” Youngjae pulled away from Junhong to get a better view of his face.

Junhong avoided his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, then rubbed at his damp cheeks with his sleeve.

“Nothing.”

 

_There was nothing to soften the fall as his mother’s body landed violently on the pavement, the blood from her wound washed away by the rain just as quickly as it flowed from her. Junhong wanted nothing more than to run to his mother’s side, to search desperately for light behind her eyes, but instead he found himself staring up at the sky as the man stepped over his mother’s body and closer to him._

Maybe it would be better.

_“Come here, Bitch.”_

Maybe he wouldn’t have to do this.

_“You’re pretty,” the man kneeled in front of him and grabbed his face, moving it around to get a better look._

If he could just get his arms to move, to grab it.

_“You’ll surely be my best catch ye––”_

_Suddenly the man was falling forward, cigar crushed between his teeth still, and Junhong took in a strangled gasp of air, scrambling backwards, and a second body hit the sidewalk where he had been moments before._

_The quiet was deafening, and Junhong, ignoring the boy standing behind where the man had been knelt, with a metal pipe in his hands, sat dumbly for only a moment before lunging forward and closing his fingers around the cold metal of the gun, yanking it from the man’s dead fingers and frantically fumbling with the weapon until there was a tell-tale click. He heard the pipe clatter loudly to the ground and ignored it. Wet eyes dragged themselves to his mother’s lifeless form, the rain still washing the ever-flowing blood towards him in rivers. He ran a hand through the stream and watched as her life ran past his fingers. Before he knew it, Junhong had the gun against the side of his own head. He couldn’t think. Nothing made sense, and he knew that nothing ever would even if given the chance. He had watched his brother disappear into the earth with crazed, blank eyes, and only an hour later, his own mother’s blood was rushing by him._

_“Hey! What are you doing?! Stop!”_

_Junhong looked up blindly as someone slid to their own knees in front of him. The gun was knocked out of his shaky hand, and he lost it._

_“NO! GIVE IT BACK, GIVE IT BACK, NO!”_

_There were arms around him._

_“MOM!”_

_They weren't hers._

_Junhong wailed and reached out, his arm only making it past the other boy’s shoulder as he was held firmly in place._

_“LET GO! LET ME GO!”_

_The boy was talking, but Junhong couldn’t understand the words coming from his mouth. The didn't make sense._

_“STOP IT! I NEED TO…”_

_He blinked heavily. Why was everything turning black? Who was holding him? His brother wasn’t. His mother wasn’t._

_“I need to… I want… let me…”_

_Junhong let out one final, weak sob before collapsing into the boy holding him back._

_“Let me go…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay yeah um so things are not quite looking up at the moment but hey, have some tragic backstory!


	9. Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHOS BACK
> 
> a bit of a short chapter but ive got plans, my friends.
> 
> im also working on a bunch of other stories on here right now, so please check them out!!
> 
> ive also got a pretty lengthy one-shot in the works, which i hope to finish this week or next.
> 
> thank you for your support!! xx

 Halfway back to their shared quarters after his "talk" with Jongup, Daehyun started to feel lightheaded, and he stumbled to lean against the wall so that he wouldn’t fall to the floor. After taking a few breaths to steady himself, he continued on, his mind running with some of the things Jongup had told him before Yongguk had showed up to give conversation a try.

Daehyun had felt the blood rush to his feet when he stood up, and he'd stumbled on his way out, black dots slowly fading away until his vision cleared again.

 _Drowsy my ass,_ he thought to himself when he stumbled again, making his way down the hall. That nurse from before was a liar, he thought as he scratched at the tape holding the piece of gauze to the inside of his elbow.  _That was the understatement of the century._

Daehyun breathed a sigh of relief when his destination came into view. He wanted nothing more than to just lie down and sleep for a while.

And then his legs gave out.

* * *

 

            “Daehyun? Daehyun! Hey, are you–– oh god, what––” Junhong sprinted down the hall and slid to his knees next to Daehyun, who was lying unconscious on the floor, collapsed in a heap. He grabbed the sides of Daehyun’s face and shifted his head, checking for any visible damage. He looked normal…

            “Okay, okay, this is fine––” Junhong ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’ll just, um, I’ll just get someone… no, no, I can’t leave you alone,” he decided. “Oh, god, what do I do, what do I do?”

            Luck seemed on his side that day when, to his relief, someone in a white lab coat walked past the other end of hall they were in.

            “Hey!” He shouted, and the person immediately backtracked, turning around, and his eyes widened when he took in their predicament.

            “What happened?” He ran to Junhong, kneeling on the floor next to him and taking Daehyun’s wrist, pressing his fingers to his pulse point. It was Himchan.

            “I don’t know.” Junhong wrung his hands. “I just found him here, on the ground.” His heart was racing, mind sprinting. _Why was this all happening to them?_ Before the panic could overtake him, the doctor placed his hands over Daehyun’s ribcage, gripping lightly around it, and spoke.

            “His breathing is slowing down…” he held his hands in place for a minute. “Apnea…but from what? Narcosis?” His face creased, and he turned to face Junhong. “Can you carry him? I need to take a sample of his blood and get an IV in him, fast.”

            Junhong nodded mutely and gathered Daehyun in his arms gently.

            “We don’t know how long he’s been here, so we’ll have to go quickly,” Himchan murmured. “His breathing is about to cross the threshold of dangerously weak; I’m not sure how much more he’ll be able to take before we need to intubate him.”

            Junhong tried to push the questions spinning around his brain down, but it was damn near impossible to ignore the inquires. He watched silently as Himchan dashed out of the room once Daehyun was laid out on the bed, counting the seconds until he returned, there was a bundle of things in his arms, and he laid everything out on the table. Junhong had no idea what any of it was.

            “Do you need me to do anything?” He asked, his nervousness causing his voice to project more loudly than he had intended.

            “I need you to go find a nurse,” Himchan instructed as he pulled open a drawer and prepared to draw a blood sample, moving to grab a pair of latex gloves before remembering that he couldn’t use them with Daehyun in the room.

            Junhong ran out of the room.

            Himchan grabbed Daehyun’s arm, only to tilt his head in confusion when he saw a square of gauze already taped to the inside of his elbow. “What’s this?” He muttered, pulling the tape away and tossing the gauze in the trash by the table. He gasped when he saw a dramatic, red, green, and purple discoloring all around Daehyun’s elbow, and checked up and down the rest of his arm, but it hadn’t seemed to travel further. “What…” he poked at the skin where it looked like a needle had been stuck in. “This hasn’t even scabbed over yet… I don’t remember requesting another sample from him today…”

Himchan shook his head. He could look into that later. Instead he moved to grab Daehyun’s other arm, and quickly attached him to the IV and saline solution. He pressed a piece of tape to the skin and smoothed it over, then reached for the blood pressure cuff and pulled the stethoscope from around his neck. He strapped the cuff around Daehyun’s lower bicep and nudged the metal of the stethoscope into the inside of the elbow that wasn’t filled with IV needles, trying to be careful around the bruising there.

            He could barely detect a pulse.

            “ _Shit_ ,” Himchan swore. His blood pressure was too low. He looked up at Daehyun’s face when he heard him start to take quick, shallow breaths. They would need to intubate him.

 

            Junhong stumbled back into the room, and tapped Himchan, who had his back turned and his fingers on Daehyun’s wrist again, on the shoulder.

            “What’s going on?”

            Himchan didn’t waste a second when he turned to see a nurse poke his head into the room, following Junhong.

            “Not sure,” Himchan said, grabbing a pen and scribbling something down into a folder spread open on the counter. “I just hooked up the ventilator.”

            “You’re gonna intubate him?”

            “His breathing turned spontaneous,” Himchan explained. “I need you to help, and meds to up his blood pressure.”

            “On it.” The nurse dashed to the cabinets below the counter and sifted through rows of bottles before selecting one and handing it to Himchan, who tucked the bottle into his coat pocket.

            “Wash your hands,” he instructed, and the nurse did as he was told, before turning and grabbing what looked like a tube from the counter.

            “Junhong.”

            Junhong’s head perked up and the sound of his name, and he met Himchan’s eyes. He a hand on Daehyun’s cheeks as if to open his mouth, the other holding the top of his head still.

            “You should leave, now,” he said.

            Junhong took a deep breath and nodded, but paused before he stepped out. “Will he be okay?”

            Himchan glanced at the nurse, who stood on the other side of the bed with the long tube held above Daehyun’s mouth. Were they going to put that down his throat? But it was so big…

            “I’ll come find you when he’s stable.”

            It wasn’t the answer Junhong wanted, but he turned and left, a frown on his face. He leaned against the wall once he was out of the room, still able to hear Himchan’s voice, laid a hand over his chest, and took deep breaths.

* * *

 

            Jongup turned his head to stare at the opposite wall, scratching at the tape holding multiple IVs into his arm. It was getting itchy.

            “I’m sorry,” he murmured to Yongguk, who was seated beside him, one elbow resting on his knee as he propped his chin up with his hand.

            Yongguk tilted his head. “Yeah?”

            Jongup bit his lip and sighed, rubbing the edge of his blanket between his fingers. “I haven’t seen him cry like that in nine years,” he said, sounding more distant with every word.

            “What? You haven’t seen who cry?” Yongguk sat up straight again.

            “Junhong.”

            “Everybody cries sometimes, Jongup. You only made it worse by not responding to any of us, especially him. He started to panic!"

            “I didn’t mean to.”

            Yongguk’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mean to what? Fall into a state of unresponsiveness?” He realized he was starting to sound mad, and quieted his voice a little bit. “You––”

            “I know!” Jongup spoke loudly, nearly shouting, and Yongguk stared at him. “Look, I’m sorry, Yongguk. I mean it when I say that I didn’t mean to.” He licked his lips. They were getting dry again. “I just… I was… thinking.”

            “About?”

            “I don’t…” Jongup hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s my place to say.”

            Yongguk made to stand up, needing a walk to clear his head for a bit, but Jongup stopped him.

            “But,” he said quietly as Yongguk approached the door, “you should know, and I know Junhong won’t tell you.”

            Yongguk returned to his seat. “I don’t want to invade his privacy…”

            Jongup shook his head. “It’s okay. They only reason he doesn’t want people to know is because he doesn’t want pity, and I know you won’t do that.”

            Yongguk nodded. “Alright, then.”

            Jongup took a deep breath, wincing a little as the movement stretched the muscles of his chest uncomfortably.

            “I met Junhong the night of his brother’s funeral,” Jongup started, noting the lack of change in Yongguk’s expression, aside from his eyes widening just a bit.

            “It wasn’t under… the best of circumstances, and it was complete chance that I was there. If I hadn’t been…” he trailed off awkwardly, letting his gaze travel to the floor.

            Yongguk nodded, understanding what he was implying.

            There was a quiet moment before Jongup went on. “His mother was lying on the sidewalk behind them––”

            “Them?”

            Jongup licked his lips again. “There was a man, he killed his mom, and I didn’t recognize him until weeks later, when I saw his face in the newspaper before the trial. He was involved in the black market, known mostly for kidnappings and the selling of illegally obtained organs and… child sex trafficking, which is what he was known best for.”

           There was a pregnant pause as Yongguk put the pieces together. “But you both got away from him?” he asked.

            “I killed him.” Jongup didn’t hesitate. “I hit him in the back of the head with a pipe I found in a trash can by an alley.”

            Yongguk took a moment to let it sink in before asking:

            “How old were you two?”

            “I had just turned thirteen,” Jongup answered. “He was twelve.”

            “Jesus Christ.” Yongguk rubbed at his temples, sitting back in the chair.

            Jongup nodded.

            “So–– so, his brother, and his mother… what about a father? Any other relatives? Where did he go?”

            “They couldn’t find any other relatives,” Jongup said with a sigh. “So he lived with me and my family. Then we came to serve in the military just a couple years ago. He never talked about any of it with me, but he was constantly having nightmares. He would crawl into bed with me, crying for his brother…”


End file.
